


Dæmon's Delight

by Esteliel



Category: His Dark Materials (TV)
Genre: Daemon Kink, Dark, M/M, Non Consensual Daemon Touching, Psychological Grooming, Thomas Meets His Daemon, world crossing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:47:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21809158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: "Hello there," he murmurs gently as he crouches down.Just as he'd hoped, there's a tiny creature sitting on the ground between Thomas and the window. It's a rabbit, not much larger than his hand, with fluffy ginger fur. It's trembling, looking around in shock--not so different to Thomas, really.Thomas crosses with Boreal and aquires a dæmon. Naturally, Boreal takes advantage...
Relationships: Carlo Boreal/Thomas
Comments: 3
Kudos: 48





	Dæmon's Delight

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Kainosite for the beta, the name of Thomas's daemon and [this perfect picture of it. <3](https://www.pets4homes.co.uk/images/classifieds/2013/08/09/386148/large/orange-self-netherland-dwarf-buck-ready-to-reserve-52055bc1e66e9.jpg)

“Don’t you trust me?”

Boreal smiles at Thomas, whose eyes return to the window that hangs in the air before them as he swallows.

“I do,” Thomas says. “It’s not that—”

“I trust you,” Boreal murmurs. “Would I have shown you this otherwise? You’re the only one I’ve ever trusted with this location.”

It’s true. He’s kept this secret jealously guarded. He’d kill without a second thought to keep it secret. He has killed for it already—or rather, had others do it for him.

Thomas, on the other hand, has proved his loyalty. More than that, he’s proved useful in a lot of ways—serving as Boreal’s guinea pig is just another way to make use of him.

Not that he would frame it that way for Thomas.

“The only way to find out whether John Parry comes from my world or yours,” he explains once more, “is to see whether someone from your world gains a visible dæmon when they step into mine.”

“Yes, but—”

“Who do you think I can trust enough to show this window? To bring into my world?”

This time, Thomas doesn’t answer, although he’s flushing lightly, his eyes going back from the window in the small park in Thomas’s Oxford to Boreal’s face.

Boreal takes a step forward, lightly touching Thomas’s cheek with his fingertips.

“You’re the only one I trust that far.” He knows that the words haven’t failed to achieve the desired effect when Thomas’s eyes go wide and dark.

“All right,” Thomas says unsteadily. “I’ll do it. For you.”

His smile is shaky. He really is scared.

Boreal still remembers his own fear, the first time he stepped through this window. But he has mastered his fear long since.

Now it gives him a valuable advantage.

“Good,” he says warmly, rewarding Thomas with a kiss that leaves him breathless. “I knew I could count on you.”

His dæmon slides around his shoulder, impatient. Hermia doesn’t like wasting time here—this part of Thomas’s Oxford is much busier than theirs, and the chance to be discovered here, and the window with them, is much higher.

And then, of course, there’s another reason she’s impatient, although Boreal is certain she’d deny it.

“We have a little bet going on,” he tells Thomas to distract him from his fear.

“Oh?”

“Your dæmon—I think it’s a rabbit. Fast, good at evading traps, resilient.”

_Fragile, soft, defenceless_. He doesn’t say that out loud, though.

Thomas smiles, that smile of overwhelmed pleasure that’s so easily brought forward by praise.

“You might be right. What does she think?”

“Mouse,” Hermia says, and Thomas instinctively moves back a little.

He still isn’t used to her speaking, and she enjoys unsettling him. Boreal reaches out to run a finger down her sleek back.

“Small and good at hiding. That’s what you’re doing at your computer, isn’t it?” she says. “That’s how you find and bring us the information we want.”

“I—I guess,” Thomas says.

Boreal can tell he doesn’t like to think of himself as a mouse. Most people don’t, of course.

“Rabbit,” he says decisively, leaning forward again. He lightly runs a hand down Thomas’s front, and Thomas draws in a sudden breath in reaction. “Insatiable. Always horny.”

He lets his knuckles rub gently against the denim covering Thomas’s soft cock, and Thomas gasps and laughs at the same time.

“Can’t argue with that.”

“Only one way to find out who’s right.” Boreal nods at the window again and holds out his hand.

It does look eerie—here, in Thomas’s Oxford, tall trees grow all around them. Through them, he can hear the distant sound of cars. And yet the rectangle shimmering in the air before them shows a quiet place surrounded by overgrown walls—the old orangery taken over by nature once more.

When seen for the first time, it is not so much a window as a hole in reality that almost defies belief.

Still, after a moment, just as he thought he would, Thomas takes his hand. Thomas’s hand is damp with sweat and trembles, clenching tight around his own fingers—but Thomas doesn’t let go, even when Boreal steps through the window. His hand is still in Thomas’s world. The air is warmer there, and he can feel a gust of wind that the rest of his body here in his own world doesn’t experience.

Finally, when he gives Thomas’s hand a gentle tug, Thomas takes a deep breath and follows him, his fingers holding on so tightly now that it hurts.

It only takes one step, and then Thomas has left his own world behind and stands here, in Boreal’s Oxford, his mouth falling open in awe as Boreal’s hand slips from his fingers.

“Oh...” Thomas stares up at the ruined ceiling and the encroaching plants. “It’s all real...”

Boreal leaves him to his wonder. After all, he hasn’t led Thomas here to show off his own world.

“Hello there,” he murmurs gently as he crouches down.

Just as he’d hoped, there’s a tiny creature sitting on the ground between Thomas and the window. It’s a rabbit, not much larger than his hand, with fluffy ginger fur. It’s trembling, looking around in shock—not so different to Thomas, really.

It’s Thomas’s dæmon. Which means that Thomas was right, and Grumman—John Parry—really came from Thomas’s world originally.

It’s useful information. He’ll have to think about what that means later, though, because right now he finds himself face to face with a newborn rabbit dæmon that has no experience of existing separately from Thomas. That’s intriguing information as well, and though it’s of less use for his plans concerning Grumman, it fascinates a different part of him.

He holds a hand out to the little bunny, and the tiny, shaking creature with its confused eyes takes an instinctive hop towards him.

Boreal moistens his lips. Then, just like that, he reaches out and gently takes hold of the trembling dæmon.

Thomas flinches. As Boreal stands, the tiny creature held lovingly against his chest, Thomas raises a hand to his own chest. His eyes are wide and shocked as he turns around.

He has no idea what he’s feeling, or why.

With a smile, Boreal tenderly strokes the rabbit, caressing her soft fur as he looks at Thomas. The little dæmon hasn’t even felt Thomas’s touch yet.

He leans forward and presses a kiss to the soft head as if that is the most natural thing in the world while Thomas trembles. There’s a ravenous hunger all entwined with lust and satisfaction building inside him at that deep, unprecedented violation of the taboo, a thrill he’s never felt before. Boreal is a man used to wielding power—but has he ever held so much power in his hand? Even now, he can’t say what is more arousing: that his is the first touch Thomas’s dæmon has ever known, or that even now, Thomas doesn’t protest, as though Boreal has every right to do as he pleases with his dæmon.

And that, of course, is correct.

“You poor little thing,” Boreal murmurs.

The dæmon hesitantly touches his cheek with her head.

“How confusing this must be for you. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe.”

He kisses her again, looking at Thomas as he does so, who is watching him in turn with wide eyes.

“You don’t even have a name, poor little dear,” he croons, and his own dæmon eagerly slides across his shoulder for a glimpse of the frightened rabbit.

“Let me see her,” Hermia says.

Boreal obliges, raising the bunny a little higher. As soon as she sees the snake, her heart starts racing again. Boreal holds her gently against his chest, stroking her soft fur soothingly while holding her in place for his own dæmon to inspect.

“She’ll need a name,” Hermia says, sliding even closer while the bunny trembles violently in his hand.

He pets the rabbit again and Thomas gasps, visibly shuddering. Boreal holds Thomas’s gaze as he caresses the tiny head, rubbing the pad of his thumb against the soft patch of fur at her throat. He can almost cover her entire body with his hand.

Her heart is pumping so fast that she seems to be vibrating against his chest. He can feel Hermia’s intrigue and delight.

“I will call you Ayara,” she says.

Such a fragile creature of small bones and soft fur. His thumb and forefinger can encircle the rabbit’s neck completely, her pulse racing against his thumb. He makes a soothing sound as he contemplates her fragility. All it would take is the smallest movement of his wrist to break her neck…

“Ayara,” he says, looking at Thomas again, whose eyes have gone wide and dark. He knows that look, that helpless, overwhelmed need. Thomas really would let him do anything.

He already knew that, of course, but never has that knowledge been more satisfying than with Thomas’s helpless dæmon cradled against his chest.

“Can I hold her?” Thomas asks breathlessly, holding out his hands.

After a brief contemplation, Boreal shakes his head. “Wait. It’s too dangerous here.”

Gently, he puts the bunny inside his suit, letting her rest against his chest. “Come. There’s a place nearby that’s safe.”

Has he ever done anything more cruel in his life than what he’s doing now, denying Thomas that first touch of his dæmon? The violent drum of her heartbeat against his chest is intoxicating, and so is the overwhelmed, dazed way in which Thomas follows him, trusting him so completely that he will let even this happen. It’s a very peculiar power, even for him, who knows the taste of power in all its incarnations so well.

***

He has Thomas on his back, fucking him with deliberate slowness as Thomas claws at the sheets, moaning every time he pushes inside.

It’s good. He doesn’t increase his pace, no matter how much Thomas writhes beneath him, intent on savouring this—intent too, on savouring Hermia’s delight, who has coiled herself tightly around Thomas’s trembling dæmon, her head rubbing seductively against the rabbit’s neck before she draws back to stare into its wide, black eyes.

“How soft you are,” she murmurs.

The little rabbit cannot answer, only gasp when the snake wraps herself around her neck, tightening enough that beneath him, Thomas groans and trembles like the rabbit. His cock is hard, even now, and Boreal reaches between their bodies to wrap his fingers around it, tightening his grip on Thomas as his dæmon tightens her body around Ayara’s neck.

He fucks him in the same slow rhythm, making the pleasure last, Hermia’s triumph almost as intoxicating as Thomas’s helpless abandon. 

The rabbit is gasping now, his Hermia’s tongue tasting the air that’s heavy with Ayara’s instinctive terror and Thomas’s arousal. Boreal keeps fucking Thomas slowly, slowly, holding himself on that precipice as the pleasure builds and builds to an entirely new height, the tightness of Thomas’s arse combining with his dæmon’s elation at the shivering creature she has ensnared until he can almost taste it himself: the frantic heartbeat, the tiny ribcage that can so easily be crushed, the softness of fur and the little gasps of a trapped creature so utterly aware of its own helplessness...

He tightens his fingers as he allows his precise rhythm to falter at last, his hips coming forward with sudden, hard thrusts, driving himself deeper and deeper into Thomas until Thomas cries out, fingers digging into his shoulders as he writhes beneath him. Thomas’s moans have turned into something close to sobs as his body convulses, his come spurting hot and wet between their bodies.

Boreal lets the tightening of Thomas’s hole pull his own orgasm from him, finishing up with thrust after thrust after thrust as Thomas shivers against him, just as his little newborn dæmon shivered in his hand—as she is shivering now, utterly ensnared by his own dæmon.

Minutes later, Ayara has flopped onto her side between their sweat-slick bodies, and Boreal reaches out again to stroke the exhausted rabbit just because he can, and because she doesn’t know better than to allow his touch, as if he has every right to do as he pleases with her.

“Why does it feel like that?” Thomas is watching him from eyes that look just like those of his dæmon: wide, confused—and trusting, even now.

Boreal smiles, stroking the soft fur behind the rabbit’s ears, and Thomas exhales shakily.

“Do you like it?” he asks, which isn’t really an answer, but for once Thomas is too distracted to argue.

“Yes...”

“Good.” He slides his hand around Thomas’s neck. Just as he’d stroked the rabbit earlier, he strokes his nape with his fingertips while he kisses him until Thomas relaxes against him. The rabbit is relaxed too, cradled between their bodies, soft and warm and trusting.

Hermia slides up his back and around his shoulder, her head grazing the side of his throat in a brief, satisfied caress.

“That’s why you’re here with me. That’s why you’re the only one I trust with the window,” he murmurs against Thomas’s lips.

It’s all it takes to make Thomas smile and wind his arm around his neck, trusting as easily as his dæmon.

“Oh, we’re going to be such good friends,” Hermia whispers to Ayara, and they fall asleep like that, the tiny ginger rabbit resting between them, as if she doesn’t even know which person she belongs to.

**Author's Note:**

> Ayara = one who is smart, swift or active  
> Hermia = from Saint Hermias (who drank a lot of poison and did not die...)


End file.
